I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

26 March 2009

Verse Portrait 64. The Marine Biologist's Mother

News: a suicide
far across the world.
I didn’t know him.
But I remember
his mother’s words:
‘O golden child
the world will kill and eat.’

It ate her first.
She never saw him grow
so like his father.

Didn’t know her either –
but through her poems
we think we know.

‘Famous because of scandal’
the know-alls say.
But loved for her words,
beauty and passion
living on.

Editorial aside: Back in business!

Oh dear, I'm listed as stalled. And no wonder.

On New Year's Eve we received notice, as our landlord wanted to move back into his house. We found another, moved on January 21st - and due to stuff-ups by telecommunications people we were offline for 6 weeks. Hideously frustrating! I'm only just starting to catch up with many things including this blog. The whole thing was a big interruption to writing, too.

Whether I can actually finish my 365 pieces within the year (by June 29th) seems somewhat problematical. But we'll see. I aim to finish them in any case. I've loved this exercise!

6 March 2009


Dear Readers -

Sorry about the delay in posting the January and February haiku. We moved house and it took AGES to get back online! Most frustrating, and I'm glad to be back. :)

After the firestorm: haiku for February 2009

Daphne in the rain.
The sudden scent returns me
from new home to old.


The clock face is placed
to stare at me all the night
while I fail to sleep.

Branches on the roof
strike loudly in the darkness –
or the bogey-man?


Little bitey things
dwell at our beach paradise.
No place is perfect.


I know all those towns
now burned to ghostly ashes.
That is, I used to.


Friday the 13th.
In Australia we shrug.
The worst has happened.


After the firestorm
townships of empty rubble
are without colour.
Nothing now but grey and brown
in all those pretty places.


Summer is gone.
Suddenly in just one night
steady rain, cold wind.


The sun and the breeze
inky sky, outgoing tide
a lone gull soaring.

On the dunes a beach sculpture
a dancing boy, arms outspread.


As the tide roars in
I walk alone on the beach
after some thunder.

I reach the black rocks,
turn and see three fishermen
lining the shallows.


In the absence of
internet access, I brood
and write more haiku.


Autumn already,
if not yet officially;
the weather mellows.


The brown snake uncoils
separating from the grass
rearing up, fangs bared.

Fireworks round the world: haiku for January 2009


The new year began
with many bangs: thunder here,
fireworks round the world.

On the second day,
at last after stormy heat
a cool, gentle rain.


Rain and a cold wind.
Today's mournful whine: 'Oh
nine, oh one, oh nine'.

Americans may reverse last line to 'one, oh nine, oh nine'. (It's a sound thing.)


On a quiet night
I remember the blue creek
swollen by king tides.


Blood and medals

The private soldier
is friend, relative, colleague ...
made public in death.

The VC winner declares:
"Out there, we are all heroes."


The weather changes.
The sky and the creek turn grey.
I lose my wallet.


Still, at 69,
she dreams of Easy Rider.
Those Harleys. The wind.

Comment from my friend Lorenzo:

Maybe a scooter?
I see you on a vespa...
Cruising down the street :)


And my reply:

Such a tempting thought:
elderly insouciance
scooter-cruising – but
Vespas are city transport,
not seen around these ranges.